


Epilogue: One Werewolf, One Boy, and a Ghost

by sheafrotherdon



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Christmas, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-12-21
Updated: 2004-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-11 23:38:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/118416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheafrotherdon/pseuds/sheafrotherdon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the Christmas after Sirius dies, and memories surface.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Epilogue: One Werewolf, One Boy, and a Ghost

They sat on the stairs, the only place that felt remotely comfortable in the confines of that malevolent house. Dust clung to their trousers, their hands, their hair. Voices echoed distantly from other rooms, the sparse notes of half-heard Christmas carols brushing past like the breath of ghosts.

"Did you . . . did he . . . " Harry paused, awkwardly. "Were there good Christmases?"

Remus half-smiled. "There were. The year you were born . . ." His voice trailed off into memory. "Despite everything, that was a good year."

"I don't remember it."

"You were too young."

Harry shifted, clasping his hands between his knees. "But . . . "

Remus turned his head a little, the better to look at the young man beside him. "Hmm?"

Harry frowned, unsure. "I don't remember faces, or voices, or actual _things_ , but . . . " He broke off, shook his head. "No, it's stupid."

"Tell me."

He shifted slightly, feeling self-conscious. "I remember . . . just this sense. This sense that I was loved." He flinched as Remus made the tiniest choking sound, and hung his head. "Remus? I . . . "

Remus shook his head. "It's OK." He closed his eyes against the onslaught of memories – the vivid image of Sirius grinning madly with a stuffed toy in his hands, soothing a restless spirit with face paint and puzzles. He cleared his throat, stealing himself against the specter of kisses long past and fingers entwined. "You were, Harry. You were." He opened his eyes and gave him the tired smile he wore so often these days. "You are."

They leaned against one another then, marooned on that staircase, stranded between grieving and living again.


End file.
